To Seguin From San Marcos

We are on the road.

It is pretty country, with the occasional junkyard. 

Traffic is not too bad.

You do spend a lot of time waiting at train crossings.

 You wait and you wait.

But now we are in Seguin, a city with traffic lights at every intersection, or so it seems.

I had not seen Seguin in many years. I remembered nothing. Nothing seemed familiar.

If I never see Seguin again, I would be OK with that.

 Now we are looking at land that used to be in the family. I remember it only vaguely.

 Back in Seguin.

Leaving Seguin, now.